All day long my father has been in a crappy mood.
I don't know what he has to complain about, the way I look at it the guy's got it made. He doesn't have to worry about food or bills or anything, really. It all gets taken care of for him. My wife cleans his room, makes his bed, fixes his meals. She makes sure the TV is always set on his favorite channels. How she keeps track of what he likes to watch and at what time, I don't know.
From personal experience, I know that age has a way of robbing you of a good night's sleep. It used to be when I went to bed at night, I would wake up with enough vim and vigor to pester my wife in the morning, if you get my drift. Now I wake up, and, while the desire is still there, it's accompanied with various aches and pains. If I sleep too long on my right side, my arm will hurt. If I sleep too long on my back, my back will hurt.
And I know my father feels the same way.
Only worse.
I don't know what he has to complain about, the way I look at it the guy's got it made. He doesn't have to worry about food or bills or anything, really. It all gets taken care of for him. My wife cleans his room, makes his bed, fixes his meals. She makes sure the TV is always set on his favorite channels. How she keeps track of what he likes to watch and at what time, I don't know.
From personal experience, I know that age has a way of robbing you of a good night's sleep. It used to be when I went to bed at night, I would wake up with enough vim and vigor to pester my wife in the morning, if you get my drift. Now I wake up, and, while the desire is still there, it's accompanied with various aches and pains. If I sleep too long on my right side, my arm will hurt. If I sleep too long on my back, my back will hurt.
And I know my father feels the same way.
Only worse.
Late today, he was complaining to my wife about this, that, and the other. Maybe "complain" is too soft of a word. His idea of being subtle use to be telling a friend, "With all due respect, your sister's a..."
Well, we don't have to go there.
My wife's a saint. I think I've told you that before. She speaks to him in a calm, reassuring voice that Martha Stewart would be envious of.
It doesn't work.
From a distance, I see him, red-faced, with his flabby arms waving around like an angry Muppet.
I've tried to intercede before.
"You're not helping," my wife has told me, and she's probably right.
It ends with my Dad going to his room, slamming the door, leaving a few choice words in his wake. You know, in all my time growing up, I've never heard him cuss. Now, it's like his knowledge of English words is disappearing and all that are left are the curse words.
It's time for bed. My wife goes to our room upstairs.
A few minutes later he comes out like he hasn't just upset my wife, sits in the great room, and turns on the TV. He looks around, probably wondering why my wife isn't there to wait on him hand and foot.
I, moving like a ninja...
"Look for, they cannot be seen. Listen, they cannot be heard. See them, and you are already dead."
...and with the help of The Force...
Well, we don't have to go there.
My wife's a saint. I think I've told you that before. She speaks to him in a calm, reassuring voice that Martha Stewart would be envious of.
It doesn't work.
From a distance, I see him, red-faced, with his flabby arms waving around like an angry Muppet.
I've tried to intercede before.
"You're not helping," my wife has told me, and she's probably right.
It ends with my Dad going to his room, slamming the door, leaving a few choice words in his wake. You know, in all my time growing up, I've never heard him cuss. Now, it's like his knowledge of English words is disappearing and all that are left are the curse words.
It's time for bed. My wife goes to our room upstairs.
A few minutes later he comes out like he hasn't just upset my wife, sits in the great room, and turns on the TV. He looks around, probably wondering why my wife isn't there to wait on him hand and foot.
I, moving like a ninja...
"Look for, they cannot be seen. Listen, they cannot be heard. See them, and you are already dead."
...and with the help of The Force...
...hide around the corner and use the extra remote to turn the TV off.
"What the...?" my father says, and turns it back on.
"What the...?" my father says, and turns it back on.
I turn it off.
He looks at the remote in his hand, and turns the TV back on.
I turn it off.
He flips the remote to look at the back, then turns it back around to look at the front, and turns the TV back on.
I turn it off.
I turn it off.
He sits up straight--well, as straight as he can-- and mumbles something that wouldn't be proper to repeat in a family blog like this one. He turns the TV on again.
Again, I turn it off.
Now he just sits in the great room--TV off--considering his options. He uses a tooth pick to fiddle with what's left of his teeth. I guess it helps him think.
Well, played, old man. He knows that, along with the smacking sounds, him fiddling with his teeth grosses me out, but I'm a stubborn old coot just like he is. I have all night to wait him out.
He sits and he sits and he sits some more.
I hear him mumble something every once in a while.
Finally, after thirty minutes, he gets up and goes to his room.
Sometimes you win the battle. Sometimes you win the war. With my Dad...
I'll settle for the battle.
Now he just sits in the great room--TV off--considering his options. He uses a tooth pick to fiddle with what's left of his teeth. I guess it helps him think.
Well, played, old man. He knows that, along with the smacking sounds, him fiddling with his teeth grosses me out, but I'm a stubborn old coot just like he is. I have all night to wait him out.
He sits and he sits and he sits some more.
I hear him mumble something every once in a while.
Finally, after thirty minutes, he gets up and goes to his room.
Sometimes you win the battle. Sometimes you win the war. With my Dad...
I'll settle for the battle.
Raising My Father
RaisingMyFather.BlogSpot.com
JimDuchene.BlogSpot.com American Chimpanzee
@JimDuchene
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